


Grayson's Christmas Special

by thethingthathasnoname



Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethingthathasnoname/pseuds/thethingthathasnoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grayson's POV for the Christmas Special; why he auditioned, his thoughts throughout the audition and performance process (including why he kissed Stephen instead of hugging him) and what happens next for their relationship!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitches Love Shakespeare

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Marloes for the encouragement and request! More chapters to follow; aiming for one chapter per night. Enjoy!

Hah. Form K had been lumped with doing the Christmas play this year. This was gonna be amazing. Amazingly shit. And amazing to laugh at. Because, come on, everyone knew that they were the worst form in the entire school. Who did they even have of relevance or talent in that form at all?

Frank forced himself not to think of the dark skinned, toned and definitely talented boy who shall not be named.

But just then the bell went and the rest of the school came pouring out into the corridors. Ah. Frank may have ‘forgotten’ to go to lessons. Again. Oops. Meh, looked like they were over now, anyway. And he was free to go. Thank god. Bunking off was fucking tiring.

But as he was sauntering down the corridor, children parting for him like the royalty he was, someone dared to bump into him.

“Oi, watch it, you fat arse.” He spat, turning to confront the bastard.

Only to find the aforementioned, remaining nameless boy.

“Oh, sorry babes. Didn’t see you there. Gotta dash.” Stephen laughed – god his laugh - and ran off again, probably to some poxy dance class where he would prance around in basically knickers, stretching his flexible muscles and glowing with sweat.

Frank had to hurriedly shake off that thought.

But how dare he treat him like that? How dare he not be afraid of Frank? How dare he barely even notice that Frank was there and annoyed?

The little shit was driving Frank crazy. This was torture.

He tried to shrug it off and walk home, but everywhere he looked, everything that passed through his mind, brought his thoughts back to the fucking poof. In fact, this happened way too much. Like ‘every single day’ too much. Like ‘every single fucking minute’ too much.

This couldn’t be healthy for Frank’s brain.

He had to do something about it.

Now, there were only a few things that Frank could actually think of that might enable him to deal with he-who-shall-not-be-named. One: he could get off with loads of girls and shag them behind various dustbins or in abandoned alleys and try and forget about him. Already tried that really. Didn’t work. Not one bit.

Two: he could pine for him secretly, but no one must ever know. Just keep his distance, watch him from afar. Feel his heart slowly breaking into a million different pieces. Hmm… he didn’t really like the sound of that.

Three: he could grow a pair and actually do something to get the bitch’s attention. There was a risk of rejection, but there was also a chance he might actually possibly like him back. And then it was either over or it wasn’t and he could move on with his life, with or without freaking Carmichael.

Well, that was the only option really, wasn’t it.

But how?

And then it hit him. The Christmas Play. As he had already said, Form K wasn’t exactly brimming with talent… aka it was a dump full of shitheads. He could easily get in. And if not, well, Frank was sure he could find another way to… persuade… Dickers.

But what the hell could he possibly do for his audition? He didn’t know any plays or shit. He needed something good, something unexpected, that would really impress Stephen. Yeh… something romantic and sweet and beautiful. God he sounded like such a fucking pussy. But he needed this is he was ever gonna get the attention of someone as fucking amazing as Stephen.

And then it hit him. That Shakespeare guy is pretty good at writing plays and stuff like that right? Frank was pretty sure that he’d heard about him somewhere, he was quite famous. Best Frank was gonna get. Plus, didn’t he write like Romeo and Juliet that Leonardo di Caprio was in? That shit’s romantic right? Cool, he’d do that. Shakespeare. Yeh. Bitches love Shakespeare.


	2. Secret Santa

Overnight, Frank had had a brainwave. If he really wanted Carmichael’s attention and you know affection? Or whatever, he was gonna have to actually get him to go out with him. But not like on a gushy date to some overpriced restaurant or any of that shit, Frank didn’t think he could handle that. Instead, he had had an amazing idea: the footie. Stephen liked football. Frank would never forget how fucking amazing he was when they did that school football match. He had scored them so many goals, and looked brilliant while he did it. Of course. Those dancer’s legs.

So Frank had gotten them two tickets for West Ham, his team, and he could slip one in Form K’s Secret Santa easy.

And then, if he showed no interest at all, Frank could just never own up.

It wasn’t that Frank was scared of rejection or whatever, he weren’t a pussy. Nah. He just wasn’t stupid neither.

Gah, this bitch had better be worth it.

But he couldn’t wait to standing next to Stephen, cheering with Stephen, celebrating with him. Watching that fucking perfect smile spread across that fucking perfect face. Maybe even hugging him and feeling all that solid muscle and soft skin against his own.

He just had to get him to agree to go with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short and not very good, more to come tonight, I promise. I just want to make sure I cover all of the canon storyline.


	3. Auditions

So it was the big day. Frank had worked his audition speech thing to perfection. He had found some stuff from Romeo and Juliet on the internet and just gone with it. It was actually pretty good, Frank had to admit. Like that Shakespeare dude is decent. So Frank had chosen some gushy romantic stuff, but it had just the right amount of gory death and shit to make it manly.

He wasn’t gonna lie, he was quite proud of it; it was romantic and soft and emotional. Stephen had better fucking appreciate it.

Speaking of, Frank sauntered into the back stage area to see the one and only Stephen preparing for his audition.

Dickers said something, Stephen replied with “Just shut up and press play.”

And then the music started.

And Stephen started moving.

And Frank was pretty sure he forgot how to breath.

Fucking hell that guy could dance.

It started off well when the boy started stripping, and especially when he stuck his butt out right in Frank’s direction.

Damn.

And when he started working those legs.

And that hair really suited him.

And that kick.

I mean wow.

And when he spun and jumped and his muscles and his legs and just everything.

Frank’s heart stopped.

Everything he did sent Frank into a dribbling, gushing mess.

Especially the ending. The ending nearly killed him; the water cascading over his chiselled muscles and the leg over the chair – Jesus Christ that leg.

There was a moment afterwards where Frank was just staring at Stephen trying to take everything in, before he felt reality slowly starting to creep back up on him.

He shook his head to remove all thoughts of … you know… but when he glanced back, he saw him sent the cutest, most dazzling smile towards Alfie and he nearly lost it all over again.

What the fuck was this boy doing to him?? He just wanted to run and grab him and kiss him and fuck him and just have him because he was so fucking beautiful and so fucking strong and so fucking hot. But he couldn’t. And he needed to focus. Because he was meant to be auditioning.

Oh fuck. He was meant to be auditioning.

Next.

There was no way he could follow that.

He heard Dickers talking. Right it was now or never. He took a deep breath. And walked on stage.

The lights hit him before he was even fully in them. Fuck they were bright.

He squinted through them, gradually being able to identify Dickers and Chow Mein. They both physically recoiled at the sight of him, shrinking into their chairs.

Frank forced himself not to look at Stephen but out the corner of his eye, he saw him move away from where Frank stood. He had no idea how much that hurt.

“Now, look. Frank. There’s no need to take the piss.” Dickers whimpered.

“I’ve come to audition, init.” Frank scowled, embarrassed. But they mustn’t see that. Keep up the act, that was all he needed to do. Keep up the act. “Your dance was like good and shit.” Frank muttered, directing it at Stephen, but still refusing to allow himself to look at him, knowing that if he did, it would send him back into a weak mess.

“Oh,” Great, Stephen was talking. And he didn’t sound too pleased. But then “Thanks babes.”

Babes. He called him babes. He shouldn’t like being called babes. Babes was not manly. But it felt so… good… when Stephen called him it. Babes. Hmm…

Out the corner of his eye, Frank saw Stephen smile. And he nearly fainted.

But, no, he had to focus.

“Whatever man, I ain’t bovered.” He shrugged.

Dickers sat up straighter in his chair. “Well, ok. In your own time.” Then he immediately started twittering away to Chow Mein next to him.

Frank saw Stephen leaving the stage, and going to watch from behind Dickers.

No. No. This wasn’t good.

Frank couldn’t do it with Stephen right there watching him.

He had sort of imagined that he might just watch from the wings or something. But no, he was right there.

They were all looking at him expectantly as though he was suddenly going to come out with this amazing acting and, alright, his speech wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t exactly good.

The lights were too hot.

The stage was too empty.

Stephen was there, looking right at him.

He couldn’t do it.

Not like he’d planned.

He couldn’t stand there and speak those fancy words in a soppy voice and expect them not to laugh at him or tell the entire school or something.

He would lose everything he had worked for.

And fuck he couldn’t remember anything he was meant to say.

He checked his word sheet again.

Ok, he’d got this.

Just make it up or something.

Something strong.

Masculine.

Possibly a bit frightening.

But still romantic.

Yeh, he’d got this.

He took a deep breath.

And it all just came tumbling out.

This was wrong, all wrong. Maybe it would have been better to have stuck with what he had rehearsed. Ah well. He was doing this now.

Stephen didn’t look at all impressed. Fuck.

Ah well, looks like it’s time for those persuasion tactics.

He finished, or rather Dickers sort of interrupted him, and Dickers tried to smile and be positive, but everyone could tell how fake he was being. Something about volume. He would have killed the little prick if it wasn’t for Stephen.

Frank just nodded along until he shut up.

“So what part am I gonna play?” Frank said simply, slipping in only the smallest amount of threat into his voice.

Dickers visibly started quaking and faffing around, trying to phrase something or other that was a ‘no’ without being a downright ‘no’.

“Unfortunately, Frank, there are a lot of really great actors out there…” Dickers tried. Tried being the operative word. Tried. Not succeeded. Everyone knew he was lying through his arse.

“What part.” Frank growled, allowing more threat to seep in.

“I’m afraid there isn’t a role for you.”

“What. Part.” Frank dropped his voice even lower, and saw Dickers withdraw.

“The lead?” This was more like it.

Then he heard Stephen exclaim “What?!”

“The co-lead?” This was better than he had ever dreamed of. Getting to perform with Stephen. Together.

Chow Mein said something in Chinese and Dickers tried to act like her knew what she was talking about when he obviously didn’t. Her eye roll afterwards said it all. But Frank wasn’t really paying attention. Whatever. He’d got what he’d wanted. More than.

This was gonna be amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry tonight's additions haven't really been up to scratch, hope you are all still enjoying. I may hurry through and sort of gather together most of the rehearsal stages, focusing on specific scenes here and there, just to get to the good stuff.


	4. The Soup Kitchen

It was the first rehearsal and Dickers was handing out the scripts. Then for some reason they were all rolling over each other. Frank totally did not get at all turned on when he felt Stephen’s body twisting and sliding up against his own. Nope. Not at all. ( _AN: If you want a focus on this scene, check out my other fic ‘The Trust Exercise’ cos I cba to rewrite this scene again and I don’t think the original one works.)_ And then later that day they were serving soup to tramps in some grotty, old kitchen.

He stubbornly leant against the wall at the side of the grimly cheerful room, refusing to actually serve soup or help out at all; being there was bad enough. It was so disgustingly jolly with Dickers in a Christmas jumper and stupid happy clappy songs playing in the background. Frank felt the need to punch something.

The things he did in the name of love.

Wait, what? Who said anything about love? Well, Frank just did. But what? He wasn’t in love with Stephen. Was he?

He couldn’t help but watch him as he wandered around, constantly grinning, laughing as he handed out bread rolls and napkins. Frank felt something twist inside his stomach and his heart beat just a little faster, but this wasn’t love, was it?

But then again, Frank wouldn’t know.

He watched his smile, he watched his laugh, he watched his arms and legs and mouth and stomach and feet and just every single part of him that he possibly could, trying to soak him all in while he had the chance to just stare at such a beautiful creature.

Fucking hell.

Suddenly, Stephen glanced over, catching Frank right in the act.

He tried to blink and look away, but he wasn’t fast enough, and there was a moment that passed between them before the eye contact was broken.

And in that moment, he felt something jolt between them. Something that made him think that perhaps he wasn’t doing all this in vain. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was something. Something electric. Something good. Something absolutely fucking terrifying.

He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t be in love with a guy.

His family… his friends… his dad… What would they all think? What would this mean for his life? What did this mean for him? Ah fucking hell, why him?

And then he looked back at Stephen leaning over to offer yet another old, grumpy man a warm mug and a smile, and suddenly none of that mattered anymore.

About half way through the evening, Dickers managed to finally find a backbone and get away from serving to find a quiet spot to rehearse.

Everything was going fine and Frank felt that, yeh alright, he wasn’t exactly acting, and he wasn’t exactly good compared to Stephen’s talent, but he wasn’t making an absolute fool of himself.

“But Robocracker,” he read. “How can we cure AIDs with no music to dance to?”

Wow this script was shit.

Wow Stephen looked fucking good spinning round with his arms above his head and all his muscles tensed.

“Never fear, Frank, because I happen to be best friends with Bonno.” Stephen grinned and Frank swear his heart stopped.

Then he turned to him and opened his arms.

A hug.

This was exactly what Frank wanted.

A hug.

With Stephen.

But he just couldn’t do it.

This was Stephen.

And he was going to hug Frank.

What if he was shit at hugging; he’d never really done it before with a guy before?

What if he hated it and then couldn’t look Stephen in the eyes ever again?

Or worse… what if he enjoyed it? What if he liked it? And then just wanted him so much more?

What if he got a fucking boner? He so nearly had when the bitch had been rolling over him??

No. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

“I ain’t hugging any blokes.” Frank said, hurriedly.

Why the fuck did he say that?

He would never get the chance now.

He had ruined everything.

Some Scottish tramp – literally – came up to them and started trying to say intellectual stuff about drama, but Frank really couldn’t give a shit.

What the hell was happening to him?


	5. SHOWTIME! Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that I have failed to update this story for the last two or three nights; life suddenly happened all at once. Don't worry, it's promised not to do it again.

Tights?

Tights??!

They wanted him to wear fucking tights!?

In front of the entire school!?

They had to be joking.

The frilly shirt and makeup was bad enough, but he drew the line at tights.

But they would not give up. Yet another arty-farty type was attacking him with the stretchy, slimy fabric and he’d had enough.

“Oh, get off me you bellend!” he shouted.

Oh fuck. The play had started and everyone had heard it.

Ah well.

He staggered on stage and Alfie stared at him.

“Why aren’t you wearing your costume?” he hissed.

“I ain’t wearing tights, man.” Frank muttered back.

Alfie – Dickers – looked awkward, sending a sheepish smile to the audience, and the play carried on.

Frank wandered over to the bed and got in it, as he was supposed to.

He sat there quite comfortably, laughing at Dicker’s failure to remember that Wheels couldn’t get out of his chair and so had to quickly improvise with a reindeer.

And then Stephen came on. Or the box that Stephen was in came on and suddenly Frank was terrified. The stage hadn’t scared him really, he didn’t care that people were looking at him, the lights didn’t bother him anymore. But Stephen. He needed to do things properly now.

He climbed out of bed, checked himself, tried to get into character. And then:

“Why did I bother getting out of bed?” he exclaimed, in his best theatre voice. Or the best _manly_ theatre voice that he could muster. Gah it was still shit… he was aware. But he just couldn’t do it, you know, any other way. Without being called a fag.

“Frank did say… very loudly.” Came the narration from Dickers along with a meaningful glare.

Ok, ok, he knew it was shit.

Even the fucking Scottish tramp yelled something from the back of the room.

Frank immediately started to retaliate, before remembering that Stephen was there and he had to do his best. For Stephen.

Ugh, when the fuck did Frank Grayson turn into a gooey mess over some guy? Well, since Stephen Carmichael appeared in his life, that’s when.

Speaking of, he heard Stephen struggling and considered opening the box, but he didn’t want to ruin Stephen’s show. But what if he was in pain? But what if he wasn’t really and got annoyed with Frank for messing up his big reveal? Should he? Shouldn’t he? Should he?

Oh. Too late. The time had come already.

Frank mentally prepared himself to start properly acting.

Stephen burst out of the box…

And fell off the stage.

Was he ok?

Should Frank do something?

What would Stephen want Frank to do?

Just keep smiling.

That was it.

Just keep smiling, and acting, and pretending that everything is fine.

He could do that.

Stephen managed to stagger to his feet and Frank nearly leant him an arm or a hand, but he was too… shy? I guess?

But no… because Frank Grayson didn’t get… shy…

Dickers just carried on although nothing had happened; as though the most important person hadn’t just fallen off the stage.

The most important person in the play, that was… you know… not just the more important person. To Frank. Or whatever. Frank blushed beneath his face paint.

“Frank makes a wish, that Santa does hear; Make this doll come to life and I’ll stop drinking beer…” Dickers narrated, then paused. “Behind the bike sheds… and being a massive bully… and constantly going on about how one of his teachers got bummed at boarding school. FYI, the only person that’s ever touched my bum is, my friend, Atticus Hoy, like once when we were at the Eden Project, this one time...”

Wow… Dickers really needed to learn when to shut up.

Even Frank could tell how awkward this was.

Suddenly, there came a shout from offstage.

“GAY!” called gypsy-boy.

“Mitchell,” Dickers shushed. “You can’t heckle your own show.”

His response was the middle finger.

Trust Abbey Grove, specifically Form K, to have the only person to heckle their own show ever.

Dickers continued, but in vain, because it soon all went to absolute shit.

Like was expected.

Firstly, the fucking Scottish tramp started heckling again, then Jing dared to get in the way of Stephen’s solo, then gypsy-boy got his arse out and it all just kind of went to hell.

Dickers had to call an interval.

Frank much preferred this version.

Although, the loss of Stephen’s solo was a pity. I mean, his legs in that tight outfit. Damn.


	6. Showtime! Part 2

“Meanwhile in Jerusalem…” Frank heard Dickers announce.

That meant Act 2 was starting. Hopefully it would go slightly better than Act 1. That wouldn’t exactly be hard.

And then he heard a load of bollocks from gyspy-boy and Wheels that was definitely not in the script. Little shits. Trying to ruin Stephen’s play by breaking free from the script. Who the hell did they think they were?

They started squabbling and Frank readied himself. He glanced to his left, then had to quickly look away again, because there was Stephen, helmet pushed back, lips painted a luscious red. Frank felt his face heating up and his heart beat race.

“But here comes RoboCracker!” Dickers announced and Frank shook his head thoroughly before following Stephen onstage. Ok. Acting. Yes. Here goes. Acting… For Stephen.

Urgh, he was such a soppy little shit when it came to freaking Carmichael.

He took up his ‘Frank-boy’ pose, trying to act ‘ready for anything’. He heard Dickers continuing with some shit about a solution for Jerusalem or whatever… you know politics stuff that Dickers probably didn’t even understand let alone anyone on stage. Frank just had to keep focusing on not looking at Stephen because if he did, even for a second, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop and then everyone would know.

But then he heard the words “Which he will explain through the medium of expressive dance.” and he knew exactly what was coming next. Stephen dancing.

He started moving and Frank had to close his eyes. He couldn’t look. But, of course, he had to; he just couldn’t resist. And regretted it the minute that he squinted through his eyelids. Because he saw Stephen’s body, defined by that skin-tight suit, swaying in time to the music. Then he lifted up one of those bloody legs and Frank just had to get the hell out of there before he got a fucking boner on stage.

He shuffled to the side behind Wheels and forced himself to stare straight forward, still with his fists clenched and ready in his ‘Frank-boy’ pose. Just keep looking forwards, he told himself. Don’t look right. Just look forwards. Think of your acting. Think of your own dancing. Don’t think of Stephen. Hah. Stephen who? Right? Yeh. Nope. Don’t think of Stephen. Shut up brain.

He heard more people come onstage but still refused to look around.

Oh wait. Oh god. He was actually gonna have to dance now.

He was unwilling to admit it, but he had actually learnt this dance. He had actually practiced it. Whenever the house was empty or everyone was busy in their rooms, he’d go through the dance in any space he could find. He’d gone through all that effort; desperate not to be caught, but also trying his very best to get this fucking thing right. For Stephen. Jesus Christ, there had to be something wrong with him.

So he just sort of did it, and he guessed it was alright, because no one was laughing at him. To be honest, they probably weren’t paying much attention to him. Not when they could watch Stephen instead. With his long arms and long legs and fluid movements and toned body and just general... perfection. Stop it! He blushed, trying to focus on the dance again.

And that worked… sort of… At least until he happened to glance to the side to see Stephen coming right at him.

What was happening?

Why was Stephen moving towards Frank?

Either way, Frank seemed to have no control over his body at all, which betrayed him and turned to face Stephen.

Was he going to dance _with_ him?

This wasn’t scripted!

Was he going to hug him as part of the ‘tolerance dance’?

What was he…?

Oh. Yeh. Course. Stephen danced straight past Frank and offstage to go and get his stupid fucking glitter.

He wasn’t heading towards Frank at all. Of course he wasn’t.

Frank hurriedly shuffled past Stephen as well and moved towards gyppo to fist bump like he was pretty sure they were meant to do but Frank had completely forgotten everything in the heat of having Stephen around. It was a miracle he could do anything with Stephen right there. Especially looking like that.

The little gyppo fucker mimed a wank during their final position but Frank forced himself to stare straight ahead smiling. Firstly, he was ‘acting’. Secondly, he didn’t want to ruin Stephen’s show and little gypsy here was annoying him so this would stop him from punching him. And thirdly, if he just kept staring straight ahead with this strained smile on his face, it would prevent him from looking at the dancing robo-boy in front of him who’s arse looked so good in that costume.

And was currently doing a split jump (literally going into the splits mid-air, fucking hell) right in Frank’s eyeline. Fucks sake! This was meant to be Stephen-free zone. Along with Frank’s mind. And Frank’s life! But no… Stephen had a way of whirling his way into everything… though Frank wasn’t exactly complaining when he got such a beautiful demonstration of how flexible the boy was.

In Frank’s peripheral vision he saw Stephen sink down right into the splits like it was nothing and suddenly these tiny little shorts seemed just too tight. Frank literally had to close his eyes and just focus on breathing in and out because that flexibility was just too fucking much right now and Frank was pretty sure he was either about to scream, faint or moan and wasn’t entirely sure which.

Fucking hell.

Luckily, in all the kerfuffle of getting pretty much the entire cast offstage, Frank managed to find the nearest wall and lean against it, taking deep breaths, without being observed. He had just managed to control his thoughts and, er, feelings, when he felt someone tap his shoulder.

He turned around, ready to scream at whomever it was, when he came eye-to-eye with none other than fucking Carmichael himself.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, acting bored.

Bloody hell… how could he act so well off stage but so shittily on it?

“It’s time for the final scene.” Stephen smiled.

“Come on; let’s get this shit over with.” Frank sighed, keeping up the act, still refusing to look at him.

“That’s the spirit.” Stephen laughed and dashed off, expecting him to follow.

Frank hit his head hard on the wall behind him to try and get rid of any such thoughts, and then swore cos it fucking hurt and didn’t help a bit.

He just could get this poof out of his mind.


	7. The End Scene

Frank took some deep breaths before following Stephen to the wings.

Ok. This was it. This was the last scene, his scene. His and Stephen’s scene. Or should it be Stephen’s and his? He didn’t know… he didn’t pay attention in English. Especially cos Stephen sat in front of him in English...

Focus, brain, focus.

He heard Dickers announcing their entrance with his shitty rhyming narration – how old did he think they were anyway – and mentally prepped himself.

However, he wasn’t mentally prepared enough for Stephen turning round and grinning at him.

“This is it, babes.” He whispered, winking, before whipping round and flouncing on stage.

Fucks sake. Just when he had it all under control. It was just… his smile, his eyes, his face. Fuck.

Frank just about managed to stagger after him, still dazed. The heat of the lights hit him yet again, managing to clear his head a little.

He looked up to find Chicken Dipper as a half-hearted Kim Jong-Un shaking his fist and saying something that was obviously meant to be threatening but was about as threatening as a soggy slice of bread. Bloody hell, this boy’s acting was even worse than Frank’s.

But Stephen was flawless, as always, making everything better. He retorted with some of Dicker’s shitty lines, but then charged at the fat shit, who just stood there while Stephen performed around him.

For once, Frank allowed himself to openly watch him; enjoying the high kicks and spins and jumps, without feeling ashamed. It was a ‘character choice’, he told himself. Plus, it wasn’t as if his mind and body and eyes were giving him much choice but to follow every single move that Stephen made – he couldn’t tear himself away right now if he tried.

He really was good, at not only dancing but the whole acting thing too. It just seemed to come so naturally to him, like he actually was RoboCracker. Frank just didn’t understand what was so difficult and why he simply could not do it, but he didn’t have the gentle flow that Stephen held, or the captivation that emanated from his very core whenever he was put on stage. I mean, Frank had been able to work those Shakespeare lines back when he was practising them in the mirror at home, but the minute there were other people there, he lost confidence and froze up. Plus, he just didn’t feel like ‘Frank’ the character; he didn’t ‘connect’ to him, like that Scottish tramp kept jabbering on about. He was just so shit… he would never be good enough for this wonderful beacon of beauty that was twirling right before his eyes.

Frank had to blink.

This whole passage of thought had danced through Frank’s head at lightning speed, although enough time for gyppo to show up and start fiddling around with the bomb.

Oh shit. The bomb. Stephen’s fight was coming to an end and then it would be Frank in the spotlight. He couldn’t do this. He really couldn’t do this.

*BOOM*

Frank heard Joe yell and Stephen scream and then everything went black.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes.

He _could_ do this. He was ‘Frank’, the angry boy who hadn’t been expecting anything much on Christmas Day until this absolutely amazing doll had shown up and together they had saved the world. But now, this doll was dead and ‘Frank’s’ world was falling apart. Right. He’d got this.

He opened his eyes, moving into the spotlight as it formed, kneeling by Stephen’s side.

Remember, ‘Frank’ and RoboCracker. Acting. Yeh. Ok?

But as he looked down at ‘RoboCracker’, he didn’t see the shiny, metallic skin coating his body or the strange eyelash pattern surrounding his eyes, he just saw Stephen. Just beautiful Stephen. The boy he was apparently head over heels for. Who was talented and gorgeous and perfect in every single way. Who would never look twice at a messed up bully like Frank. He looked down at this creature of perfection before him, and then he felt it. Like a spark inside of him. And when he reached down to take Stephen’s perfect head in his hands and push that fucking helmet out of the way, he was doing it because it felt right, not because he had been told to.

The Shakespeare he had learnt didn’t really make much sense here, but it would do, and it was all Frank had been willing to do so Dickers just had to make do. But as Frank spoke, the words seemed to fit, and the emotion that he had been holding back for God knows how long, finally spewed out.

“Where is my Romeo?” he heard a soft voice say.

Those were his words, and that was his voice, but he felt like he wasn’t speaking, just trafficking emotion from his heart. This wasn’t ‘Frank’ speaking to ‘RoboCracker’ anymore, this was Frank Grayson pouring out his defrosting heart to Stephen Carmichael, the poof of Special K, in front of the entire school. But Frank didn’t care.

“Poison I see hath been his timeless end.” He whispered, raw emotion grating against his throat.

He could feel Stephen’s smooth skin under his rough fingers. He could see Stephen’s heart racing and breaths heaving through his thin outfit. He seemed so fragile. What the fuck would Frank do if Stephen died?! He didn’t think he could take it; especially if he never told him how he felt.

“I will kiss thy lips.”

If only Frank could.

“Haply some poison yet doth hang on them.”

… Why couldn’t he?

“Thy lips are warm.”

Wait, what?

His thumb brushed over Stephen’s lips and felt them, soft and pliant, against his skin.

“Let me die.”

Well?… why couldn’t he? He knew he was just meant to hug him. He knew this was totally insane. He knew that this could all go to absolute shit and ruin everything. But he had pulled Stephen’s face closer, almost subconsciously, and now felt himself just staring down at his perfection. And he was just so perfect; this was just so perfect. Frank would never get a moment like this again in his entire life. He felt like his whole body was on fire… while being frozen at the same time. It was like the air around him was electricity being sprinkled with water. And Stephen below him was the centre of all this madness; the world seemed to be pushing Frank closer to him, to his lips.

There was someone talking in the background, but that wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that Stephen was right there. And so was Frank. And there were forces and attraction and it felt to Frank as though he was being pulled in by Stephen’s very presence. And he was powerless to stop it.

And he wanted it so fucking much.

He barely knew what he was doing, but suddenly he felt Stephen’s lips against his own. They were plump and soft and moist. And perfect, so, so perfect. At first, they were motionless, even tensing at the shock, but slowly Frank felt them press back carefully. He responded eagerly, sliding them against each other, creating this electrocuting friction that made Frank feel like his head was a floating bubble of air full of weightless fancies of Stephen’s lips and Stephen’s lips alone. Their lips were dancing and wrestling and diving, all at once in the smallest of movements. Yet everything felt heightened, everything felt intense, everything felt… perfect.

Suddenly, a harsh cough shattered the shroud that seemed to have settled over the pair of them and they broke apart.

Frank started and blinked.

Fucking hell; did that really just happen?

Did he seriously just kiss Stephen Carmichael in front of the entire school?

More importantly, did freaking Stephen Carmichael just fucking kiss him back??

His heart felt like it was galloping out of his chest. He tried to focus on the play again, but he couldn’t help glancing back down at Stephen, more specifically his lips - where his own had been attached just moments before. He watched as Stephen yawned and sat up, presumably in coordination with what Dickers was saying, although Frank really couldn’t give a fuck right now; he was too busy focusing on the close proximity of Stephen. He only really started paying attention when he heard the words “The End.”

Right. He had to move now. He had to stop thinking of Stephen for about 2 minutes, and move.

He stood up. He bowed. He looked out at the audience… and found them all actually applauding and smiling and, fucking hell, standing up?! They couldn’t have enjoyed it that much, could they? Maybe they actually did. Frank couldn’t help the smallest of smiles creeping onto his face; he’d never had anyone applaud him before.

He looked up in time to see a bouquet of flowers heading his way, and somehow managed to catch them. Instinctively, he turned to his side to present them to Stephen – after all this was his show – only to find him positively beaming, looking straight back at Frank.

The world seemed to stop. The clapping and cheering faded out. The lights dimmed. And all that mattered was Stephen and his glowing, radiating smile. Frank held the flowers out, feeling as though he were moving in slow-motion, and watched as the grin spread even wider. His heart stopped. His breathing stopped. Everything stopped. Apart from the muscles in his face, which stretched out, impossibly wide, bringing his lips into the broadest, brightest smile that Frank had ever experienced. Because Stephen was smiling, Stephen was happy. And it was because of Frank.

And then he looked away and time righted itself and the noise and light and heat all hit Frank at once.

He somehow managed to tear his gaze away and stumble off stage, still smiling like a lunatic. But when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Stephen was still smiling too, so maybe it was ok.

The only problem was Frank had no fucking clue what to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry; there will still be more to come following through to the end of this episode.


	8. Christmas Dinner

Well, Christmas Dinner was gonna be absolutely shit, like everything else in this fucking school. Plus, Frank was already late - it had taken fucking ages to get all that weird face paint off. He had strongly considered just not going, but one thing stopped him. The same one thing that had made him do this whole bloody show in the first place.

If he was lucky, he might be able to sit somewhere vaguely near him, or at least be able to watch him as he laughed and talked and ate. Like not creepily or anything, just, you know, watching.

He traipsed along the corridor to Form K’s classroom and walked in, refusing to let himself look straight at Stephen.

Instead, the first thing that hit him was the smell - Frank had eaten a lot of dodgy things over the years and whatever this shit was, it was definitely not chicken or turkey.

The second thing that he noticed was the general aura of disgusting happiness; I mean, everyone was laughing. Fuck’s sakes, nothing’s that funny… and not this many people can be this happy all of the time.

The third thing that hit him was there was only one empty chair left, obviously for Frank. And finally he let himself notice that it was right next to Stephen.

He blushed, looking around, and shuffled over to the seat, trying to keep his head down.

“Hi babes!” Stephen greeted, grin all over his face, causing Frank to nearly stack it over the chair legs.

Frank looked away as he flushed and muttered a hurried “Hi” in return, plonking himself into the plastic piece of shit.

When he glanced back, Stephen had turned his attention away to his food.

Therefore, Frank took this opportunity to covertly observe Stephen - who had donned a sparkly Santa hat on a headband and was vigorously tucking into his potatoes.

Frank really shouldn’t find this so attractive.

But still he watched the curve of his jaw when he chewed. And the shade of gently glowing pink that had blossomed on the ridge of his cheeks. And how turned his head majestically to smile at Chantelle across the table, displaying his pearly white teeth against his bronzed, flawless skin.

Frank felt something jolt in his chest. And he realised he wanted nothing more than to reach up his hand and pull those perfectly shaped lips back against his own.

He looked away, hurriedly. This had to stop.

But he just couldn’t help himself.

He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t move, heck, he could hardly breathe – everything he thought of was about Stephen; whether he was looking, whether he was even aware of his presence, whether he could do something without Stephen noticing.

For fuck’s sake, this was ridiculous! He just had to man up and talk to the little shit; what was the worst that could happen right? He had already kissed him on stage in front of the entire school. One little conversation couldn’t hurt, could it? Plus, Frank didn’t get hurt; he was manly and strong and brave.

So… why was he so fucking afraid?

Ah fuck it.

Here goes nothing…

He coughed, nervously, winning Stephen’s attention.

He closed his eyes, gearing himself, before opening them again and flicking them over Stephen’s direction, just to be sure he was actually listening.

“So d’you get the West Ham ticket?” he asked, all in one breath. His eyes dared to dart yet again onto Stephen’s face before hastily retreating.

“Oh.” Was the response.

Ah, shit.

Fucking bollocks shit.

What had he done?

Why couldn’t he just keep his fucking mouth closed??

“You got me that?”

He didn’t sound very happy.

Ok. Ok. Play it cool, Frank.

There was a pause while Frank tried to work out what the fuck to say.

Ah, just man up, you tit. Just say something. Anything. The first thing that comes into your mind. Something manly and casual and maybe a little bit flirty.

“So d’you wanna go?”

Basically, not that.

Urgh, fucking desperate. Looks like his chances were over.

Another pause where Frank resigned himself to a life of pining.

“Yeh. Alright.”

…

Alright? Alright?! I’m fucking in love with you and you’re just like alright!

Wait… what… he wasn’t in love with him?! Ahah. Ahah. No. This didn’t matter to him; he wasn’t in fucking love with him?! He could just walk out of here right now and he’d not give a shit. Ahah. Yeh.

The little arrogant prick should know that.

“I mean it don’t mean nuffin nor like… whatever.” He garbled.

Ah no wait. He shouldn’t have said that. What if he actually did walk out? No. No, no, no, no, no.

You know what? Ok, fine. You want the truth, you little wanker. Well, here it is: yes it fucking does matter. It means fucking everything to me, ok? Are you happy now? You little shit.

“You can give up that act now babes.”

Ah phew, he wasn’t leaving! It was ok! Frank could breathe again. Wait… What act? Hah. Frank wasn’t acting. He was cool. He didn’t care about anything. You know… cool.

Ok. He was so fucking confused now. Brain, stop being so fucked up and just stop lying to yourself because it doesn’t fucking work and now everything’s just even more fucked up than it was before.

He blushed, shrugged, sighed, nodded, whatever – not even fucking sure what he was even doing or thinking about anymore - and fixed his gaze back down at his definitely-not-turkey. Grim. Well, at least it wasn’t Stephen… Stephen giving him all these mixed emotions and thoughts and feelings and what not. Even if it did taste like donkey’s ass.

They sat in silence for a little while, Frank focusing on trying to calm down the pounding of his heart and the redness of his face and the ferocity of his breaths. And the chaos of his brain and thoughts and feelings.

And then Frank felt something brush against his foot.

He stiffened.

He glanced down to see Stephen’s smartly clad shoe dangling just next to his right ankle.

Maybe it was an accident.

But, nope. There it was again.

Tentatively, Frank twitched his foot in return and felt the response immediately.

Why the hell was this simple touching of feet making Frank’s heart race all over again.

And then Stephen’s toes slid up the bottom of Frank’s calf and he realised why.

He nearly choked on his own breath.

Just when Frank thought this moment could literally not get any better, he felt Stephen’s hand slip into his own where it had been hanging by his side, forgotten due to the focus on his feet. Their fingers intertwined almost naturally and fucking hell it felt so good. Like every single nerve in his body was standing on end and every single touch of Stephen’s skin to his caused them to dance and burn desperately.

He squeezed Stephen’s hand, just the slightest bit; partially to gain some control over the next move, partially to remind himself that this was real, and partially to try and hold on so that he couldn’t let go. He felt a gentle pressure in return and couldn’t help the smile that spread across his entire face, not caring for once who saw or what they thought; he was just focusing on Stephen’s hand in his own and Stephen’s foot against his leg and Stephen’s presence by his side.

Ok, so maybe this Christmas Dinner wasn’t quite so shit after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you are probably aware, this is the end of the canon storyline for the Christmas special. However, I have a couple of ideas for perhaps one last chapter. I can't decide whether I want to write about the football game or not as that has already been covered so well - I may write about it as a separate fic. Hmmm. We'll see but if any one has a burning desire for my interpretation of it here or there then let me know. Also prompts are very welcome :) Hope you are enjoying and thankyou so much for reading.


	9. The End... But it's really just the beginning.

Frank’s heart was still pounding an hour later when everyone had finished their food and was ready to go home. Reluctantly, he let go of Stephen’s hand, feeling the loss of warmth and pressure like a blow to his soul. They stood up and walked with everyone else through the now deserted and darkening corridors.

He may be acting casual but Frank’s mind was racing. What would happen now? What would Stephen expect? What even were they?

I mean, they were going on a datey thing – at least Frank had assumed it was a datey thing; what if Stephen had thought it was just as, you know, friends? But then he wouldn’t have said… whatever – they were going to the football together, and they had kissed – and he’d fucking liked it – but did this mean they were… like together? Like boyfriends? Would Stephen expect him to text him and send him bunches of flowers and boxes of chocolates? He’d never been in a relationship before – like he’d got with people, but he’d never been in a proper relationship; he’d never really wanted to…

He’d never been in the position where he wanted to hold onto someone’s hand and never let go.

Never felt the need to make someone smile so strongly that he quite literally would do anything.

Never had his brain practically explode from just one look, one touch, one word.

It was fucking terrifying.

And yet it felt so good.

He was still caught up in this torrent of thought when suddenly, he felt someone grab him and pull him to the side into a joining corridor. On instinct, he yanked his arm away and shaped a fist, always on the defensive attack, only to find himself face to face with Stephen.

He blushed bright red, embarrassed, but Stephen just laughed at him.

Which was strange.

Because usually when someone laughed at him, it made him want to punch the bastard in the face.

But when Stephen laughed at him, it made him want to laugh too – to stroke his cheek and caress his lips in that perfect smile. And then pull him in and…. Stop it, brain, focus.

He allowed himself to grin ashamedly in return.

“You’re so cute, babes.” Stephen giggled.

Frank started to protest cos no he wasn’t cute, he was you know manly and tough and hot and stuff.

But then Stephen leant forwards and pressed his lips against Frank’s and suddenly it didn’t matter.

It started off soft and gentle, more like a careful brush of skin against lips than anything else.

Not that it wasn’t still electrifying.

But then Stephen pushed him up against the wall of the corridor and Frank found himself grabbing at his waist and hell broke loose.

It probably literally could have for all Frank knew.

He pulled Stephen’s body flush against his own, allowing Stephen to open his mouth and introduce his tongue. And a damn fine fellow he was too. Frank felt an involuntary groan shudder through his body as Stephen licked and nipped at Frank’s tongue; mouths dancing like fiery flames against each other. He spun the pair around, gaining more control, and breaking their lips apart to instead decorate Stephen’s neck and collar bone with peppered kisses. He found a particular spot just at the base of his neck which made him squirm so he sucked at it a little, and felt Stephen shiver. So then he bit down just a tad, and received a moan. He continued working that little patch of skin until he felt it had been suitably marked and could feel it rising under his mouth.

He had no idea he could get so turned on from giving a hickey, and then seeing it bloom, marking out that person as his own. He also didn’t realise how many different noises Stephen could make and still sound incredibly hot in every single one. He pulled back for a second, just to admire him, all breathless and flushing, before capturing his lips once again.

Usually, when Frank was kissing a chick, he was aware of every minute of it and was constantly having to think about what to do – where to put his hands, what to do with his tongue, what noises to make. But with Stephen, it all just sort of happened and he couldn’t think at all because his brain was so preoccupied with the general feeling of it all, of Stephen, that there was no space for thoughts.

Gradually, however, they became aware that they should probably stop because breathing was apparently important for human survival.

They pulled apart and just stared at each other… and Frank realised that was all he needed in that moment. And that was even stranger in a way because he had been craving his touch and pining for his body, but now all he wanted was his… presence? Just the knowledge that he was there, with Frank. Just the sight of him so close and so happy and so perfect.

Simultaneously, it seemed, they sighed. Then smiled. Then laughed.

“Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t, you know, tell everyone just yet.” Frank suggested, slightly awkwardly, with his voice only a tiny bit shaky. He coughed to try and cover up the effect this was all having on him.

“No trouble, babes. I mean, they might think something’s up, you know you did just kiss me in front of the entire school, but we can keep it on the low down if you want.” Stephen garbled, apparently just as affected as Frank. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me, just whatever you want. I’m quite content with just having you and no one else needs to know, I mean it doesn’t matter. I mean, obviously it does, but, you know, I’m chilled. You know, it could even be fun, pretending nothing’s up and then bam… or you know whatever. Ahah.” Then he trailed off, flushing slightly.

“Stephen Carmichael, are you rambling?”

“No! I mean, maybe er….” Stephen’s cheeks darkened which gave Frank confidence.

“You’re so cute.” He quoted. Before leaning in for a playful peck.

Slowly, they turned together, and walked down the corridor together. They walked out the front doors together, some of the people who were hanging round for parents after the dinner giving them funny looks, but Frank just glared at them and they glances away.

They walked a little bit down the road before Stephen pulled to a stop and said “This is my bus stop.”

Frank hesitated.

“Erm.” He said, oh so eloquent as always. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday for the game.”

“Yeh, er,” Stephen, head drama queen, social media ruler and public speaker for England, seemed at a loss for words too. “See you then.”

Frank paused and then turned to walk away slowly. He took a few steps, already feeling his spirits sinking.

“Frank!” he heard suddenly, feeling someone grab his hand, and turned instantly, delighted. “Merry Christmas.”

Stephen was right there as he turned and pressed his lips against Frank’s. This kiss was different to the previous ones; it wasn’t nervous or passionate, it was emotional and loving almost?

Frank smiled as they pulled apart. “Merry Christmas.”

Then he smiled again before turning and walking down the road, more cheerfully this time, glancing over his shoulder to grin at Stephen, who blew a kiss and flung a wink in return.

It was only when he was half-way down the road did he realise that he now held something pressed into the palm of his hand that Stephen had grabbed. It was a scrap of paper – possibly a red napkin – which had a number scrawled on it in what looked like eyeliner, next to a tiny little drawing of a winking robotic doll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! There we go! C'est fini! I hope you enjoyed and more graymichael fics to come so don't you fret! Sorry this last chapter was a bit naff, I just wanted to end the day nicely and wrap it all up (and perhaps explain why there is no hint of them for most of season 3)! But there we go!


End file.
